


From Others to Take an Example

by Mara



Series: The Expansion of DI Lestrade's View of the World As We Know It [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Adventure, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade can't decide if the trip to Cardiff is a reward or a punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Lestrade finds he's about to take a trip

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to ["Nothing Human Is Alien to Me."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/110986) (Both titles are from the Roman playwright Terence, in case you're curious.) My apologies if any of my medical explanations or Cardiff geography are incorrect. Thanks to Snowballjane and Kayim for the beta/Britpick and derelictplaces.co.uk for posting pictures of the Cardiff docks.

"Explain to me again," Lestrade growled as he struggled to park the car in a space barely longer than it, "why I'm in Cardiff?"

"You're here to liaise with the police," Sherlock said, peering out the window.

"You mean I'm here to convince them you're not a raving lunatic."

"Well, yes."

"There's a problem with that."

"Don't say it," John called from the back seat.

"You _are_ a raving lunatic." With a sigh, Lestrade turned off the engine.

"I thought you'd be happy to see your boyfriend," Sherlock said, popping out of the car like a jack-in-the-box.

"He's not my--he's already got--" he called after Sherlock. "Oh, why the hell am I arguing with him?" Lestrade turned and looked at John.

"Don't ask me." Shrugging, John got out and headed Sherlock off before he could accost a random stranger and annoy them.

Lestrade locked the car and chased after them down the Plass. Why the hell had he thought chasing aliens would be better than the job he already had?

* * *

The ridiculous thing was that it wasn't even Lestrade's case. While some other DI was stuck in the media headlights over "The Coronary Killer," Lestrade was tucked away in his office, catching up on paperwork. So when his phone rang, he didn't look at the number before answering it. Heck, _anything_ had to be better.

"Lestrade," he said, trying to decide whether to send a particular report back to be rewritten using the Queen's English.

"Inspector," said a plummy and unfortunately familiar voice.

Oh hell. "Mr. Holmes."

"I'm afraid you'll have to send those reports to Sergeant Donovan to be finished."

Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't have a headache, but he suspected he was about to. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I need you to go to Cardiff with my brother and Dr. Watson."

"Cardiff?" He swallowed the sense of excitement that one bloody word evoked. He was _not_ an alien hunter, damn it.

"Sherlock needs to consult with our mutual acquaintance about the murders that have received so much attention."

"But I'm--"

"You've been seconded to my department for the moment, so there will be no problem with your superiors."

What was the saying? 'Be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it?' Lestrade muttered "Great."

Mycroft ignored that. "Although the fact has not yet been publicized, the killings have shifted to Cardiff. Captain Harkness believes the murderer may, ah, come under his jurisdiction."

"It may be an alien, you mean." Mmm-hmm, there was the headache, right on schedule.

"As you say."

Lestrade took a little vicious amusement from the obvious distaste in Mycroft's voice. Sighing, he asked, "When do we leave?"

"Immediately."

"I can't wait."

Putting his mobile in his jacket pocket, Lestrade couldn't decide if he was being sarcastic or serious.

* * *

"A tourism office?" John asked as they walked toward the door. "The top secret base is in a tourist information office?"

"Top secret?" Lestrade snorted. "Are you kidding? This lot are about as top secret as the fact that Graham Norton's gay."

"Graham Norton's gay?" Sherlock asked. John and Lestrade stopped dead and he frowned at them. "It was an attempt at humor. Proceed."

Shaking his head, Lestrade followed Sherlock into the tourist office, where they were immediately greeted by a prim young man in a well-tailored suit.

Sherlock glanced at him and sniffed. "Well, at least _you're_ human."

With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, the young man said, "Indeed I am. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holmes." Turning, he smiled more sincerely at John. "Dr. Watson."And then he turned to Lestrade. "Inspector Lestrade. I'm Ianto Jones. Welcome to Torchwood."

Oh shit, Lestrade thought as a secret door rolled open. It's the boyfriend. Am I going to die?

Sherlock and John stepped through and Ianto waved Lestrade ahead of him. "Don't worry," he said softly. "I've never yet hurt someone Jack slept with."

Lestrade swallowed and followed the others. "You really are okay with, uh..."

"I really am. He always comes home to me."

"Ah."

"And sometimes he shares." Ianto grinned, then stepped past Sherlock and John to open another door.

Lestrade wondered what the hell he'd gotten into.

* * *

Stepping into Torchwood's base, Lestrade decided, was like visiting the set of a bad 80s SF movie. He tried not to goggle, although the pterodactyl was almost too much for him. (Knowing about it and seeing it were two different things.)

Before they'd made it down the steps, Jack swooped down, engulfing Lestrade in a hug. After a moment, Lestrade relaxed and enjoyed it. "That's it," Jack whispered in his ear and Lestrade felt himself flush.

Everyone (except Sherlock, who was already halfway across the room) was grinning at them when Jack finally let go, even the woman walking toward them.

"Gwen," Jack called. "Come and meet the London contingent."

"We even imported another copper to keep you company," Ianto said.

"Oh good," Gwen said. "At least there'll be one other sensible person around here."

John swiftly disappeared with Ianto into their medical space (Torchwood's doctor having apparently died around the same time as the tech genius...which made Lestrade wonder again if this was a good idea).

Lestrade followed Gwen obediently over to a computer. "You and I," she said, "get to do the police work, while Jack and Sherlock are being mad geniuses."

"Oh good," he said with a sigh. "I was worried someone would expect me to be a genius, too."

Laughing, she pulled over an extra chair. "No, thankfully nobody expects that of us. A little common sense, perhaps."

"That I can do. I'm afraid this wasn't my case, so I'm not as familiar with the details as I should be. Can we start at the beginning with the data you've got before we start looking for more?"

"I was going to suggest that anyway," Gwen said. "You can give me a fresh perspective on the entire thing."

"Okay, so the first bodies were found..."

* * *

It took him a while to get the hang of Torchwood's computer system, which wasn't exactly a standard PC, but once he figured out how to ask the questions, he was frankly astounded by the speed and quality of the answers he got. He whistled softly.

"Tosh did great work," Gwen said.

"She--Jack said she died last year?" He glanced over at her, not sure if he had the right to ask the question, but whatever anyone said, he was here to protect Sherlock and John.

Gwen nodded sharply. "She was shot. We were busy trying to save the city from total destruction and she died still trying to get Owen, our doctor, out of a nuclear bunker." Her tone was clipped, a junior officer giving a summary to a senior.

Suddenly in familiar territory, he spoke carefully. "It's a dangerous job we do."

"Torchwood is worse than being a cop." She turned to look fully at him. "It's a hell of a lot more dangerous."

He considered that, then asked the question his first sergeant had asked him a long time ago. "But is it worth it to you?"

Her eyes went unfocused before focusing on Jack and Ianto. "Yes."

"Okay, then." He looked around. "I hope it's worth it to us."

She smiled at him. "Welcome to the madhouse."

Water dripped down a wall and the pterodactyl screeched. Lestrade ran a hand through his hair and wondered how grey he'd be by the time this was over.

* * *

They went back to sorting files and gathering all the data they knew Sherlock and Jack would need. At some point, Gwen went off to see about lunch, but Lestrade stayed at the desk, tapping fingers in annoyance, sure he was forgetting something.

He nearly leaped out of his seat when broad hands started to massage his shoulders.

"Relax," Jack said in his ear, tone full of laughter.

"Relax? You're kidding, right?" Lestrade spun the chair around, but that didn't help, since now he was face to face with Jack. "We're chasing a serial killer alien, I'm in a secret base with its own dinosaur, and you're flirting with me while your boyfriend is in the other room making coffee or something."

"Really _good_ coffee," Jack said, trying (and failing) to look innocent.

"Yes, but that's not the point."

"Okay. What is the point?"

Lestrade opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. "I have no idea. Possibly that I'm crazy."

"Join the club." Jack kissed him briefly, just a brush across the lips. "Now c'mon upstairs and bring whatever you've got. I think it's time we did some brainstorming over lunch."

* * *

"Torchwood's computers," Ianto was explaining as he passed around takeaway, "track all kinds of police and military communications and they alert us when something that seems...odd occurs. In this case, several separate jurisdictions were reporting...well, I'll leave it to Dr. Watson."

John poked halfheartedly at a plate of fried rice. "It took time for anyone to notice, but there was a sudden surge in deaths in the greater London area--and now Cardiff--from no potassium."

"Low potassium?" Lestrade asked, with visions of a terrible banana shortage dancing in his head.

" _No_ potassium," John said. "Low potassium is fairly common, but nobody expects a patient to come in with no potassium left in their system. The only reason more accurate tests were done is young and healthy people began dying of paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia."

"What's that when it's at home?"

"I can provide more detail if you need it, but essentially, when you remove the potassium from a human body, you cause cardiac arrest."

Lestrade blinked, looking up from the chicken he'd been spooning onto his plate. "Wait, they noticed when younger and healthier people died of this, so--"

"Yes," Sherlock said from the end of the table. "There are undoubtedly more victims whom nobody's noticed yet."

"We need to find whoever's doing this and stop them," Jack said.

John shook his head. "How exactly do we find potassium-eating aliens?"

"Well, we searched our database," Jack said, "on the off chance we had an entry for 'Food source: Potassium.' Or maybe energy source."

"Did you?"

Ianto spoke up. "So far we've found no mention of potassium as either a food or energy source. I'm tapping into UNIT right now. Oh, and Jack, Martha says hello and when are you going to return that Rigellian scanner you borrowed last month?"

Grinning, Jack spun his chair in a circle. "Very soon, I swear. And I hope you told the enchanting Dr. Martha Jones that we miss her."

"Of course." Ianto frowned reproachfully at Jack's empty plate.

Ignoring Ianto, Jack looked at Gwen and Lestrade. "So, is there a pattern?"

He nodded to Gwen and she answered. "Not one that we've found yet. They seem random, but it's difficult to tell, since the attacks were so close together. I’m not sure that finding more victims would simplify things."

"Why here?" Sherlock asked over his steepled fingers. "What brings you and these aliens to Cardiff?"

"Oh!" Gwen's eyes widened. "Jack, they didn't come out of the Rift but--"

"Maybe they're looking for it or using it in some way." Jack nodded. "Possible. Lots of races have the ability to detect rifts. Most just don't bother since they're so unpredictable and usually not very useful."

"Rift?" John asked.

"It's, well, just what it says on the tin," Ianto said. "A rift in space and time, and it tends to deposit things here. We're here to monitor it and collect the things it drops off."

"Sometimes it picks things up too," Gwen said, putting her chopsticks down with a clatter.

Lestrade thought about following up on that statement, but one look at the Torchwood team's faces told him he didn't want to know. Sherlock opened his mouth, but then he jumped as if John had kicked him under the table.

"There isn't a rift in London, is there?" Lestrade asked.

"No, but they could have been detecting residual energy from, well, there was a rift for a short while." Jack's face looked like it had when mentioning the death of Tosh.

Sherlock jumped up and started to pace. "We have aliens that need or want potassium, can detect this Rift, and can move about unseen."

"Do they look human like the ones in London?" John asked. "Or are they invisible?"

"Not many truly invisible species," Jack said, fingers tapping a rapid beat on the table. "They're probably using the sewers like the Weevils. You'd be surprised how easy it is to get places without being seen."

Ianto shook his head. "We're not seeing the kind of power surges that we'd expect with cloaking devices."

"So, hiding by more mundane means," Sherlock said, rubbing his hands together. "Excellent."

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered what he had done to deserve the phrase "cloaking device" used entirely un-ironically.

Sherlock and Jack began a rapid-fire exchange of conjectures, which Lestrade stopped trying to follow after five sentences. "Since when does he know this much about aliens?" he whispered to John.

"After the last incident he spent a month doing almost nothing but read Torchwood's files," John said. "He was insufferable."

Ianto leaned across the table. "Do you know how hard it was to make it look like he'd hacked in?"

Scowling, Lestrade tossed a fortune cookie at him. "Still trying to recruit us?"

"You may have noticed that Jack doesn't give up easily."

Lestrade flushed again, feeling like a teenager.

"Okay, ladies, why don't all of you get back to what you were doing?" Jack waved. "I think Sherlock and I will be arguing for a while. Take some lunch and get outta here unless you like listening to us."

Lestrade nearly ran out of the room, Gwen close behind him.

* * *

"Do you carry a weapon all the time?" Lestrade wasn't sure where the question came from, but after several hours of rehashing the same data, his mind was starting to wander.

Gwen's hand automatically reached to touch her gun. "Yes. I told you my job was dangerous. I use it...a lot."

Lestrade repressed a shudder.

"It took time for me to get used to it, but invading Slitheen don't respond well to batons."

"Slitheen?"

"You don't want to know." Gwen looked at him. "Do you want to borrow a gun?"

Lestrade rocked back on his heels. "I..."

She didn't wait for his answer. "Jack!"

"Yes?" The voice floated over the railing, followed almost immediately by a face.

"I've got a customer for the firing range. You have a minute?"

"For him? Of course." Jack's smile was familiar and Lestrade was suddenly warm all over despite the chill in the underground air.

Ten minutes later, he found himself wiping sweaty palms on his pants and couldn't decide if it was fear of the array of guns or watching Jack fondling them. (Surely most people didn't handle guns in...quite that way?)

Finally Jack picked out a gun and handed it over, pointing at the targets. "Let's have a try with the Smith & Wesson. This baby will take care of you if you take care of her." He paused. "I assume you know rule number one?"

"Don't point the gun at anyone unless you intend to shoot them."

"I can also assume you've never shot anyone."

"Never." Lestrade shifted his grip on the gun and looked at the target.

Jack slid behind him, running his hand down Lestrade's arm to gently grip his hand. "Do you think you _can_ shoot someone?" Jack's lips brushed his ear and he shivered, arms raising the gun slowly. A breath in and he fired at the paper target.

A hole appeared mid-torso. Lestrade let out his breath and leaned back against Jack. "I don't know. But to protect my friends, I think so."

* * *

Sherlock's voice carried well and Lestrade looked up when he heard a tone he recognized: Sherlock very very pleased with himself.

"Well," Sherlock was saying, "other than the fact your aliens are furry and most likely some shade of brown..."

"Excuse me?" Ianto asked, sounding like someone who knew exactly how to deal with an annoying egomaniac. Lestrade snorted, certain he knew the look on Sherlock's face.

"It's right here in the reports, of course."

John's sigh carried over the railing. "Just explain it, for those of us who don't manage to share your brilliance."

"It's the dogs, of course. Well, once or twice it's a cat."

"Sherlock..."

"Don't you see? Witnesses nearby never saw a murderer, but many casually mentioned an animal."

"So the aliens are small?" Ianto asked.

"No no no! They never actually saw the animal, but they heard a strange sound, saw a glimpse of fur, or fur on the ground, and just assumed. People never _think_!"

"Well, it's a bit unreasonable," John pointed out, "to expect people to see a bit of fur and think 'Oh, there must be a potassium-eating alien stalking my neighborhood.'"

Lestrade and Gwen looked at each other and grinned. "We'd better get up there," he said. "It only goes downhill from there."

Gwen took a USB drive and headed up the stairs, while he carried the papers he'd been rearranging (hey, technology was good, but sometimes you had to have something physical in your hands).

Dumping the papers on the table, Lestrade prepared to intervene--Sherlock was winding himself up into a right tizzy--but everyone was distracted by Jack arriving to see what the fuss was about.

Before anyone could speak, Gwen's mobile rang and all movement ceased as she answered it. From the look on her face, Lestrade knew what she was about to say. "Another body," he said.

Sherlock whirled. "Has the scene been disturbed?"

Gwen shook her head. "No, they're keeping it for us, Detective Swanson says."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Sherlock was out the door and everyone else scrambled after him.


	2. In which Lestrade learns things can always get worse

Although he wasn't quite sure how it had happened, Lestrade found himself crammed into the backseat of Torchwood's Range Rover with three other men and barreling down Cardiff's streets. He thought about closing his eyes, but decided that wasn't very manly of him. He couldn't help the wince as they nearly clipped a lamppost.

"Yes," Ianto said softly from beside him, "he does always drive like this."

"He wasn't this bad in London."

"Oh, that was probably Mycroft's doing. They have a...thing."

"A thing?" Lestrade stared at him.

"Not like that. I think both of them would rather bed a shark. No, it's more like a shoving contest."

"Isn't that dangerous for the rest of us?"

John snickered and Ianto grinned around Lestrade at him.

"Are you having fun without me?" Jack called from the front seat.

"Yes, Jack, we are," Ianto said to general laughter.

"I don't want to know," Gwen called.

They finally pulled up (unscathed) by a rundown carpark, surrounded by the usual homicide scene detritus.

Lestrade and Gwen hopped out first and Lestrade took one look around, focused on the attractive black woman stalking around the scene snapping orders, and started toward her, Gwen a step behind. "Detective Kathy Swanson," Gwen said. "Not especially fond of Torchwood and Jack annoys her no end. Good luck."

"Thanks a lot." Gwen veered off to talk to one of the constables and Lestrade kept going. "Detective Swanson?" he called when he was close enough.

She turned, took a look at Gwen standing a few feet away and groaned. "Who the hell are you? Is Torchwood abducting more employees?"

Sticking out his hand, Lestrade said, "I'm DI Lestrade from the Met, temporarily attached to Torchwood."

Swanson just looked at him until he dropped his hand. "What does the Met want here?"

"I'm afraid I've brought you more trouble for your crime scene," he said with a smile that usually charmed difficult people. "Sorry 'bout that."

She didn't look charmed at all. "More trouble?"

"Civilian consultants. I'm sort of their babysitter."

That got a half-smile. "I wish Torchwood came with babysitters."

"Lemme guess. They march in, stomp all over your crime scene, and don't care about the chain of evidence."

She snorted. "Please. They don't even _leave_ the evidence half the time. I have to write reports explaining why the body and half the items around it have disappeared. Hell, once it was the entire goddamned building that went missing."

"Okay, you got me beat there. But mine marches in, announces the murderer was a six-foot Australian with blue eyes and a hare lip, and then is astonished that no one can follow his _obvious_ deductions."

Swanson eyed him, then held out her hand. "Okay, DI Lestrade. Bring on your consultants. They can't make a worse mess than those bloody Torchwood lunatics."

"Even if I could tell you, you wouldn't _believe_ the mess they left in London."

"Oh I would, I really would." She paused, glancing over at Jack and the others before turning back to Lestrade. "Can they stop these killings?"

Lestrade took a breath, knowing exactly how she felt. "I believe they can."

"Then let's do this." Shaking her head, she waved over her sergeant. "Dave, this is DI Lestrade from London. Give him and whoever's with him the royal treatment, hmm?"

* * *

Sherlock had, of course, been pacing outside the police tape, barely restrained by John, furiously ranting about time being wasted and the general incompetence of police forces the world over.

"Shut it, Sherlock," Lestrade said. "I've got you permission to mess with the scene."

"I don't 'mess with' the scene," Sherlock said, looking down his nose in that annoying way before he ducked under the tape. Grimacing in apology, John followed him.

Lestrade looked at Jack, who was leaning against the Range Rover, looking amused. "I can't decide if Detective Swanson's got it worse than I do," he said. Jack laughed and followed Sherlock.

Sherlock did his usual routine of stalking around the scene like a mad scarecrow, whirling and barking at anyone who got in his way. Lestrade and John rushed behind him, soothing ruffled coppers' feathers.

"They're not tall," Sherlock said over his shoulder as he stalked around the body of a young blond man. "A bit shorter than John."

"Thanks, mate," John muttered.

"Heavy, though. Thick about the middle, perhaps."

"Are you talking about me or the killer?"

Sherlock didn't bother to answer as he bent over to examine a smear of dirt. With a quick swipe, he'd bagged and pocketed it. A few feet away, Lestrade could see Detective Swanson gritting her teeth and he very carefully did not look amused at all, because he knew exactly how close she was to losing it.

The pocket glass came out and Sherlock peered at the victims' hands and nails. Lestrade--as he always did at times like this--tried very hard not to think about the young man's parents, perhaps his girlfriend or boyfriend. At least this time he didn't need to speak to them and see the moment when they realized their loved one wasn't returning.

Sighing, Lestrade followed Sherlock as he stalked over to a nearby brick half-wall and examined its surface.

* * *

"It's the Bitosha," Jack announced as they once again assembled in Torchwood's conference room.

He was met by blank stares.

"Not ringing a bell," Gwen said with a shrug.

"Oh c'mon, they tried to invade in 1902. It doesn't sound familiar?"

"Some of us have to sleep," Ianto said, his tone particularly dry. "We can't all stay up at night and read the archives."

"I didn't read about it. I--"

"Jack. Just tell us about them."

"Well, the potassium thing is new. Or at least we didn't notice it last time. Hmm, I wonder..."

"Focus!"

"Okay. Anyway, they fit the physical description Sherlock came up with, and the hairs he found at the scene match what we've got in our records. But as I said, the potassium thing is new, as far as I can tell. They don't eat it, so it must be some kind of energy source. If they're trying to get access to the Rift, that makes me nervous."

"I don't suppose they have any of those nice easy-to-exploit vulnerabilities like melting when exposed to vinegar, do they?" Gwen asked.

"Not that I could find. The good news is that guns work fairly well. Their hides are tough, but if you aim for the torso and keep shooting, you're bound to get through. There were a few drawings in the archive, just so you have an idea what we're looking for." He held up two somewhat decrepit pieces of paper, but the ink was still clear enough.

Letrade peered at the drawings, which had obviously been done by someone with a small amount of skill. The aliens (Bitosha?) were a bit thick about the middle and furry, just as Sherlock had said, but they were saved from looking like large teddy bears by some very impressive fangs. He shuddered. There was also a certain look about the face that spoke of intelligence, and not intelligence that wanted to play nice.

"Lovely," Gwen said, giving the pictures a quick glance. "Well, we know _what_ they are, now we just need to figure out where."

Sherlock leaped out of his seat. "I'm going to look at the mud again. In London I would already know the answer."

Lestrade shook his head and he and Gwen went back to the computer.

* * *

"Look at this," Gwen said, pointing at the screen.

"[Work at Cardiff Docks hazardous waste site suspended,](http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/wales/south_east/8596869.stm)" Lestrade read. "Okay, so they were sending untreated waste to a landfill."

"And there's this one. ['Dangerous' waste site shut down](http://www.walesonline.co.uk/cardiffonline/cardiff-news/2010/03/31/dangerous-waste-site-is-shut-down-91466-26143609/")." Gwen read off the screen. "'Seaport Environmental dumped its hazardous waste in the public tip at Lamby Way. It has also accumulated such huge quantities of untreated industrial chemicals at its site at Cardiff Docks, Environment Agency officials have become concerned that any leak or rupture could pose a risk to the area.'"

"So?"

"If you were aliens who needed large quantities of potassium, wouldn't it be nice if you could get the dumb humans to bring it to you?"

Lestrade stared at her. "But then they got shut down and their ready source of potassium went away."

"So they said to hell with it and started killing people."

"Wait..." Lestrade rubbed his forehead. "I thought they were looking for the Rift."

She chewed on her lower lip. "This theory may need some refining."

"But it's good enough to be going on with. Oi! Everyone! Get your arse down here, I think Gwen here might have the clue you need."

In moments, everyone was huddling around them, pointing and talking.

"There was a valve explosion about 18 months ago that got hushed up," Lestrade said, pointing to the screen.

"A valve explosion? Well, that's more original than a gas leak." Gwen was tapping away at another computer. "And I can't find anything about the company or its employees. No tax records, nothing."

"How the hell has nobody noticed that?" John asked.

Jack shrugged. "How did everybody miss the Cybermen?"

"What?" Sherlock, John, and Lestrade asked.

"Never mind. Long story." Jack waved a hand. "Okay, I think we have our aliens. Let's go take a look."

"Well, that's convenient," Ianto said, arms crossed and looking rather put out. "They're right across the bay."

Lestrade rubbed his forehead. "So they _were_ trying to get to the Rift?"

"If we can stop them killing anyone else, does it matter?" John asked.

"I guess not."

"What are you _waiting for_?" Sherlock shouted, bouncing in excitement and halfway up the stairs. "I must see what potassium-stealing aliens look like in action!"

Gwen looked at Lestrade and John. "Is he always like that?"

"Oh no," John said with a sigh. "He's usually much _much_ worse."

Lestrade patted him on the shoulder before following Sherlock up the steps.

* * *

Lestrade rather thought that Torchwood would have some super clever technology that would let them sneak in and stop the aliens in their tracks. Unfortunately, they turned out to be as hare-brained as Sherlock and John and it wasn't long before he found himself vociferously arguing as everyone prepared to tiptoe into the aliens' lair with nothing more than a couple of guns, and not even particularly futuristic ones.

"Can't we call for backup?"

"We _are_ the backup," Jack said. "It's our job to deal with the aliens and keep civilians from being hurt."

"Police officers are _not_ civilians!"

"They are to me," Jack said. "I won't endanger anyone else."

"But you'll endanger us?" Lestrade almost spit the words out, then wished he hadn't when Jack's face froze into a mask of agony for just an instant. Ianto touched Jack's sleeve and the other man turned away. "I'm sorry, I--"

"Never mind," Jack said, looking at the bay, which gleamed incongruously in the late afternoon sunlight. "You have to trust me. We need to find out what they're doing and stop it."

Sherlock, who had been arguing with Gwen over carrying a weapon, looked up. "Are you done yet? I'd like to get on with this before anyone notices the people standing around and yelling at each other."

Jack stalked off toward a rickety bridge, with Ianto and Gwen and Sherlock trailing behind. Lestrade looked at John, who was giving him a patented John Watson sympathetic look. "You're as bad as the rest of them," Lestrade said, feeling exhausted and old.

"True." John shrugged an apology. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

"Well, I obviously didn't fight hard enough, did I?"

"You never had a chance, between Jack and Mycroft and Sherlock."

"And," Lestrade added in fairness, "my own sense of duty."

"That too. Are you ready?"

"Not in the slightest."

* * *

It didn't take long for Lestrade to find he was right.

"You stink of the Rift," the Bitosha hovering over him said, the words sounding rather odd coming through his fanged mouth. Not to mention the atrocious accent.

"You could use some deodorant yourself," Lestrade shot back automatically. Despite their position, he could see Ianto fighting a grin at that. Then the Bitosha holding him tightened his grip and he was gasping for air.

Honestly, the sketch from Torchwood's archives hadn't done the things justice. They looked a lot less like fanged teddy bears when they were pointing weapons at you and trying to strangle you. The fur against him was scratchy and matted and stank worse than any wet dog he'd ever encountered.

The alien waved a hand, or paw, or whatever it was, and Lestrade nearly gagged at the stench. "Lock them up. We'll need to learn what they know about the Rift before we drain them."

No. If Lestrade knew one thing as a cop, it was that you wanted to get away before you get locked up. He began to struggle and then everything went black.

His last thought was to be glad that only he and Ianto had been caught.

* * *

Lestrade's head felt like he'd been on a three-week bender and for a few moments he tried to remember when he'd had the time for that. It all flooded back: Cardiff, Jack, potassium, Roath docks...

"I'd offer you some paracetamol if I had any," a voice said, sounding amused.

Right. Ianto. Lestrade dragged his eyes open and found the Welshman looking less amused than his voice implied, although he relaxed a bit when Lestrade focused on him and said, "Under the circumstances, you're forgiven."

Ianto chuckled. "How's your head?"

"Terrible. And yours?"

"The same. Par for the course."

"This happen to you a lot?"

"All the time."

Ianto stood and started touching the walls, bending to look at the floors and stretching to peer at the ceiling, and Lestrade groaned and followed. As he started poking around, he said, "So, what exactly am I looking for?"

"Anything that isn't bare wall. I can take it from there."

As Lestrade poked half-heartedly at the wall, finding nothing but smooth metal, he felt, well, inadequate. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, of course, since Sherlock had made him feel that way regularly for years. He'd become rather inured to feeling like a dullard in front of his staff. It hardly bothered him at all now, probably because they looked just as stupid.

But first there was Jack, with his secrets and his technology and his fancy cars and his damn movie star smile. And Gwen, who was a cop who could search the world's crime reports in an instant and knew all about aliens. And...

Out of the corner of his eye, Lestrade saw Ianto, unruffled and handsome, and he felt very very inadequate. "So..."

Ianto didn't turn, but Lestrade could see the side of his smile. "Yes, I really _really_ am okay with Jack sleeping with other people."

"I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. "It's just unusual."

"So is Jack."

"Point."

Ianto put him out of his misery. "There's a lot you don't know about him, but trust me when I say that enjoying sex with different people is the least of it. And I wasn't kidding when I said he always comes home to me."

"How about--"

"The sharing?" Ianto grinned. "Okay, there I was mostly winding you up. The thing is...if it was that important to me, Jack would be monogamous, but he wouldn't be happy. Sex is truly vital to him, in a way that's more than physical. And it's not as frequent as you might think. Sure, he flirts with anything--"

"Anybody."

Ianto turned his head, eyebrows raised. "Anything."

"Oh. Oh!"

"Right. He flirts with anything, but he doesn't have sex with just anything or anybody. For one reason or another, he considers each of us special."

"Special?" Lestrade snorted. "Sherlock is special. Hell, John is special. I'm a rundown DI who barely keeps up with the dust they leave behind."

"Maybe, but Jack doesn't think so. And if I were you, I'd believe him."

"Why are you special?"

Ianto took a deep breath. "That's a very long story and one that requires significant amounts of alcohol to get through. If we get out of this alive, buy me a pint and I'll tell you."

"It's a deal."

Turning back to the wall, Ianto bent over. "Hmm," he said, poking at a small seam.

"Is that an 'oh crap, we're stuck' kind of hmm or an 'I can work with this' kind of hmm?"

"The latter."

"Glad to hear it."

Although he half-heartedly continued poking around, he mostly watched Ianto pull a small tool out of his shoe and open up a small compartment in the wall. It took a very tense ten minutes, but Ianto finally said "Aha!" and a door slid open.

Ianto and Lestrade came through the door in a rush, both obviously worried about a guard outside, but they'd overestimated their opponents, as they were met by an empty room. "Any idea where we are?" Lestrade said.

"Not a clue. Left or right?"

"Right."

"Okay."

Two corridors and a set of steps later, they were in the warehouse proper, rather than the aliens' additions below. It was premature, but Lestrade felt relieved to be someplace that looked familiar. Very familiar, for some reason...

Ianto peered another corner, but ducked back immediately. Lestrade heard alien voices. "Damn," Ianto said softly. "I can see daylight that way."

Shaking his head, Lestrade turned back the way they'd come. Just as they passed a door, it opened and a startled alien stared at them and they stared back. Ianto reacted first, grabbing the door, slamming it shut and taking off at a dead run. There was no time for subtlety now, just getting out of that area as fast as they could

Breathing loud in his ears, Lestrade ran down yet another grimy corridor, skidding around the corner and nearly overbalancing. Then he nearly fell over again as strong arms grabbed him. "Lestrade!" John yelled, eyes wide in relief.

"John? What--"

The next few moments were a confusing welter of images: the focused look in Jack's eyes as he held Ianto, Gwen's fond smile at them, Sherlock oblivious to it all as he babbled about potassium nitrate...

"Potassium nitrate?" Lestrade hissed. "Isn't that saltpetre?"

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up.

"Don't give me that look, I went to school, you know. And things that go boom catch the attention of small boys everywhere."

"C'mon," Jack said, arm around Ianto. "We've got some work to do now that we've found you."

"We're going to blow them up?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes," Gwen said. "Is that a problem?"

"Hell, no. I've taken a strong dislike to these aliens."

Despite his crack about schooling, Lestrade wasn't sure he followed the plan's technical intricacies, but the fact that he could follow instructions and place bundles at various intervals was a minor balm to his soul.

Small boxes, fuses, click twice to the left, down the hall, turn right.

"Here," Ianto said, eyes on the scribbled map John had thrust into his hands. "At the corner."

Another box down and left, 500 yards. Another box, end of the hall, left and he saw--

"Ianto!" Boxes went flying as he fumbled for the gun Jack had given him. The creature moved so fast Ianto had no time to react, the hairy arm snaking around his neck and tightening with terrifying speed.

Time seemed frozen as Lestrade looked into Ianto's eyes and hoped the other man saw his apology.

The gun was in his hand and he felt the memory of Jack behind him, steadying his arm, which went perfectly with the memory of the way Jack looked when he saw Ianto alive.

And he fired.

Ianto and the alien crashed back together and Lestrade's heart stopped. Gun in a hand that was _not_ shaking, damn it, he leapt forward. Movement from the heap on the floor and he pointed the gun. "Ianto!"

The creature's arm moved and his finger tightened. The arm fell and--

"Don't shoot," Ianto croaked as he crawled out from under the arm.

"Jesus _Christ_." Lestrade nearly dropped the gun as he got his finger off the trigger and the weapon pointed down. Safety on, he tucked it in a pocket and grabbed Ianto's arm, hauling him up and away.

Ianto clung to him, gasping for breath, and Lestrade was giddy with relief. They grinned at each other and Lestrade was tempted, oh god how he wanted to kiss him. Ianto licked his lips and...

Swallowing, Ianto closed his eyes and Lestrade stepped back, letting go so fast he almost dropped him on the ground. "Sorry, I, um. Sorry."

Ianto swayed on his feet, then stood upright, tugging his jacket down. "It's okay. Let's keep moving."

Adrenaline still hummed in his body, but Lestrade focused back on boxes and getting the hell _out_ of this place. And before he knew it, they were done and heading toward the rendezvous point.

Hands free, Lestrade pulled the gun back out, copying Ianto's posture. "How long have we got?"

"Nine and a half minutes. Loads of time."

"Oh, of course." Lestrade snorted. "Loads of time." They pounded up a set of steps.

Reaching the top, Ianto grabbed the doorknob, yanked, and nothing happened.

Fuck, Lestrade thought. "Locked?" Ianto just looked at him. "Right. Locked. But y'know, I've been thinking this reminds me of a warehouse I was chasing a perp through a few years ago."

"Any ideas would be splendid right about now," Ianto said with remarkable reserve.

"It's just possible there's an emergency exit..." He closed his eyes, remembering the turns they'd made that day and the way the tosser had ducked behind some boxes and disappeared. "C'mon!"

It took two wrong turns and three dead ends, but behind a strange piece of machinery that he didn't want identified, he found the oddly placed door he remembered. Praying to a god he was fairly sure he didn't believe in, Lestrade pushed and the door opened. Open air had absolutely never smelled so good.

There wasn't time to reach the rendezvous, they simply ran for their lives. Lestrade's heart pounded and he was almost wheezing as they tried to put distance between them and their captors.

Ianto's head whipped around Lestrade followed his gaze to a row of barrels lying on their side. "Here," Ianto said.

Lestrade followed him, flinging himself inside a barrel. Before he could ask the time, he heard a boom. A big one. And another and another. Debris was everywhere, flying by their shelter, and the distinctive smell of gunpowder was in the air. Eyes closed, he huddled with Ianto and waited for it to end.

As everything quieted, sirens could be heard in the distance. Lestrade wondered what would be left of the dock when they arrived.

"Terrible, the gas leaks we have in Cardiff," Ianto said solemnly.

Lestrade started to laugh, first a highly undignified giggle, then chuckles, then outright (not at all hysterical) laughter. Ianto tried to resist, but when the others found them, Lestrade and Ianto were leaning back to back in front of the barrels, giggling helplessly. Every time they started to trail off, one of them would say "gas leaks" and they'd start again.

Through his teary eyes, Lestrade saw Jack cross his arms and grin, Gwen and John sling arms around each other, and Sherlock take a picture with his phone. Waving an admonishing finger, Lestrade choked out, "If that picture gets out, I'm going to make you pay." Sherlock just smirked and took another picture.

Stumbling and punch drunk, the six of them made their way back toward Roald Dahl Plass.

* * *

Jack, Gwen, and Ianto monitored the news, with John and Lestrade hovering behind them anxiously. Sherlock took himself off to the archives, declaring the followup to be "boring." Ianto took a step after him, but subsided at a look from Jack. "On your head be it," Ianto said quietly and Gwen laughed.

After listening in on the emergency chatter, Jack made a few phone calls, but otherwise seemed content with the reaction. "That previous valve explosion certainly worked to our benefit," he said, giving Lestrade and Ianto an amused glance. Lestrade's lips twitched, but he kept his composure.

Stretching, Jack looked at them. "Gwen, my darling, I think you can safely head off to your husband."

"Are you sure?"

"I believe I know where to reach you if there's a problem." He grinned.

"Then I'm off." Gwen hugged Lestrade and John. "It was wonderful to work with you. Will you be here tomorrow?"

John chuckled. "I may have to drag Sherlock out of here with a lorry."

"Then I'll see you when we're all rested. Bye!" And she was up the stairs and out the door.

"Give Rhys my love," Jack called after.

Her voice carried past the closing door. "I don't think I will."

John wandered off, muttering something about making sure that Sherlock hadn't gotten himself killed, and Jack was about to say something when Ianto pre-empted him by turning to Lestrade. "Fancy that drink?"

After a confused second, Lestrade remembered Ianto's promise. "Yes. Sounds good."

Jack blinked at both of them. "We'll be back," Ianto said. "I promised him a story."

Jack paused, giving Ianto a sad smile. "Ah. Understood."

Lestrade and Ianto made it safely out of Torchwood's base and strolled down the Plass in silence for a while. "So, this is your life?" Lestrade finally asked.

"Yes." Ianto glanced sideways at him. "Intrigued?"

"No. I was right the first time. I belong in London with my own team, catching ordinary murderers."

"You do know that that's not actually a bad thing to be doing, right?"

Lestrade laughed. "Yes."

"Good." Ianto was quiet again until they reached a pub. Opening the door, he waved Lestrade in and ushered him to a quiet booth in the corner. He was a regular, as a smiling waitress brought him a pint immediately and took Lestrade's order.

Ianto stared into his drink, then carefully drank a quarter of it in one go. Lestrade felt his eyebrows shoot up and Ianto gave him a half-hearted smile. "I used to work for Torchwood London."

"There's a Torchwood London?" Lestrade leaned forward, alarmed.

"Not anymore."

"Ah." Lestrade leaned back, taking a long drink from his own glass. He suspected he was going to need it as much as the other man.

"At Torchwood London, I met this girl, Lisa, and..."

* * *

Arms around each other, the two men stumbled down the pavement, held upright by momentum more than anything. "'S been a while since I wa' this drunk," Lestrade slurred.

"Me too," Ianto said, almost tripping over his feet.

"Worth it, though. Glad you tol' me."

"Y'earned it." They stumbled in silence for a little while. "So, once we're sober, wanna shag me and Jack?"

Lestrade stopped so suddenly, they both overbalanced and ended up sitting on the ground, half leaning against each other and half against the railing facing Cardiff Bay. "Wha' was that?"

"Me, Jack, bed, good sex." Ianto's grin looked lopsided and just a bit scary in the light from the streets.

"Y'said you were winding me up!"

"Mostly." Ianto waved an unsteady finger. "Mostly winding you up. Gotta pay 'tention to details."

Lestrade scrubbed his face, suddenly wishing for sobriety. "Both of you?"

"If y'want." Ianto didn't look quite as certain of himself now. "If it's just Jack you wan', thas okay."

"No, thas not..." Lestrade patted his arm. "Not the prolem. But...me?" He hated how pathetic it sounded, but couldn't take it back.

"You." Ianto leaned forward. "Turns out yer special."

"Special?"

He shrugged. "An yer crazy, but thas the way it is 'round here."

Lestrade leaned his forehead against Ianto's and laughed. "I mus' be crazy, but yes. When we're sober. Sounds good." Their lips bumped together and it wasn't really a kiss, but more like a promise.

\--end--

**Author's Note:**

> The news articles Gwen points to (Work at Cardiff Docks hazardous waste site suspended and ['Dangerous' waste site shut down](http://www.walesonline.co.uk/cardiffonline/cardiff-news/2010/03/31/dangerous-waste-site-is-shut-down-91466-26143609/)) are true and actual news stories. I didn't make 'em up. However, I make no claims about real potassium-stealing aliens at Roath Dock!


End file.
